Love Me Like You Do
by DetectiveMinerva
Summary: Following the events of "Gloriana," Elizabeth is determined to mend her fences with Philip, who is feeling every bit as lost and alone as she does. Together, they vow to make a new start and Philip decides to show his wife just how much he still loves her - by taking her beyond the clouds. Alternative to Season 2 opening events.
1. Confrontations

I am so relieved to be able to reupload this story - and, hopefully soon, finish it! I've given this tale a little extra tweaking and am working on a chapter that I hope will sweep everyone off their feet. This is an alternative to the first events of Season 2; what I think should have happened between Elizabeth and Philip after the Season 1 finale. The story is largely inspired by Ellie Goulding's song "Love Me Like You Do," although another song or two may play a big role in future chapters!

* * *

_Our very own goddess. Glorious Gloriana._

Queen Elizabeth II had to silently accept those words, spoken by Cecil Beaton as he snapped her portrait. Elizabeth Windsor, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to punch the sycophantic pillock in his face.

_Uncle David wasn't joking when he said we were half-people. The problem is, I'm supposed to forget who I really am – a living, breathing human being, emphasis on _human_ – and become a goddess. I'm not a bloody goddess, I'm a woman! I can't forget who I am! I don't want to be worshiped; I want to be loved, and the love of my people, as grateful as I am for it, is not enough. I need the love of the one person who can give it to me. I need... Philip._

Philip, who had stormed out of the palace to meet with the president of the Olympics Committee, who had looked like he desperately wanted to tell her something, and she hadn't even tried to prompt him until it was too late... because she was supposed to forget herself, be only the Queen. But at what cost? Her marriage, apparently. Was she supposed to forget Philip along with her true self? Was he supposed to forget who _he _was?

_You've taken my career from me. You've taken my home. You've taken my name. I thought we were in this together._

_So did I, Philip. So did I._

Had she done enough, though? Or had she simply been a doormat, letting her mother, her advisers, and Parliament walk all over her when it came to Philip? The answer to that, she realized, was yes. Perhaps if she'd stood up for him instead of caving to everyone, Philip might not be so resentful of her, carousing with his friend Mike every time she turned around. Maybe then he might understand how lonely she was, how much she needed him.

True, she hadn't been an angel, either. The crown had forced her to put duty before herself, and in doing so, she had fallen into a dangerous trap: expecting Philip to change overnight. He wasn't a docile consort, not a yes man like everyone expected him to be. He was an alpha male, a vibrant, wisecracking man, and that was the man whom Elizabeth had fallen in love with. The man she missed with all her might. The man who, she knew, if given the chance, could charm and inspire the love of the British people.

With the photo shoot finally over, Elizabeth rose and stole a look at the crown jewels resting on a nearby pillow. The heavy state crown, signifying the weight of the British Empire on her shoulders – and the strain her marriage was under. The orb and scepter, symbols of power, divine rule, and sovereignty, now seemed to her like a ball and chain.

Or was that how Philip saw her now? As "the old ball and chain," stripped of his freedom, shackled to the crown as she was? The thought racked her mind as she thanked Beaton and his team, removed the Diamond Diadem from her head, and set off for her bedroom. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet for once... but, as usual, she was not to get her wish. Not a minute after she'd entered and her dresser began helping her shake off her finery, a knock sounded and the door opened, revealing her mother standing on the threshold. "May I come in?"

Elizabeth managed a small smile. "You're halfway in already; you might as well," she quipped, hoping some levity would ease things.

Wishful thinking. "I see Philip's wit is rubbing off on you," the Queen Mother said dryly, as she curtsied to her daughter.

"That's not a bad thing, Mummy," Elizabeth said, helping her dresser unpin the blue sash that crossed her torso. "Philip really does have a terrific sense of humor, you know." _Marvelous. I choose now to defend him, and the subject of defense is his jokes. Bloody great timing, Lilibet._

The elder Queen Elizabeth eyed her eldest child, still clad in her sparkling white gown. "Yes, and he seems to trot it out at all the wrong moments."

"Such as?"

"Such as when he insults your fellow leaders and dignitaries, even if he thinks he's trying to lighten the mood. And I don't particularly care for the..." The Queen Mother briefly closed her eyes. "Off-color jokes he thinks I never hear."

"Why? Because he says things that our realm deems inappropriate, or because he says what everyone else is afraid to say?"

The Queen Mother's eyebrows arched at this sudden retort, and Elizabeth bit back a smile of satisfaction. Clearly, her mother had expected her to agree, just as she had when the dowager Queen had suggested Philip's trip to Australia – and that Philip needed to change. Well, there was no arguing the latter, but as for the former, Elizabeth was wishing she hadn't been so wishy-washy. Finally, she was standing up for her husband, and it felt bloody good.

"Lilibet." The Queen Mother's voice bore a note of world-weary patience. "We've had this discussion already. Philip needs to settle, his humorous remarks with him. He must accept his new role as your consort and get over this... this attention-seeking behavior, this jealousy of your rank."

"I'll admit to his attention-seeking, but he is not jealous," Elizabeth said tersely, turning to remove her jewels. Almost to herself, she added, "How can you be jealous of something you hate?"

"Jealousy, hatred, it's all the same."

"Well, Mummy, what did you honestly expect?" Elizabeth slung one of her diamond-and-pearl earrings onto the vanity table and spun to face her mother. To her dresser, who was beginning to look uneasy, she said, "Thank you. I can take it from here." The woman curtsied and took her leave, and Elizabeth braced herself for a verbal joust, queen versus queen. "Philip and I thought we would have more time. More time to grow as husband and wife, to raise our children, to prepare for the roles we've been forced into. Instead, we've had to uproot ourselves, just when he finally had the chance to put some down for the first time in his life, to put on this daily..." She wrenched at her second earring and threw it onto the vanity, where it clattered next to its partner. "Dog and pony show that being royal demands!"

"Elizabeth Alexandra Mary!" the Queen Mother cried, her eyebrows descending like hawks to prey. "Your father –"

"Oh, Mummy, spare me!" Elizabeth snapped, furiously working at the clasp of her heavy diamond necklace. "You know bloody well that Papa never wanted this life, a job that would lead to his death. All he wanted was a quiet, happy life with his wife and children and some sense of normality, and instead he was thrust onto the throne, torn for the rest of his life. Half man, half king, both sides constantly at war... forever having to deny himself for the sake of the crown."

A good minute passed before the Queen Mother spoke again. "He got on with it, though. He knew the danger of putting self-indulgence before duty, something Philip still needs to learn."

"Mummy, Philip is not Uncle David," Elizabeth said, her fingers fumbling on the clasp as doubt about those words crept in. "He is no more Uncle David than I am Papa, and try as you might, you can't expect Philip to be you, either."

"Me? What do you mean?"

"I mean that he will never be the model consort like you were. Obedient to a fault, a near shadow, quiet – certainly not quiet – that's not who he is! He's energetic, vivacious, so warm when he's given the chance..." Elizabeth's voice trailed off as she thought back to those glorious times on Malta when they were first married, when they were so blissfully happy. "He lights up a room when he walks in."

Silence. "Be that as it may," the Queen Mother finally said, "He is not what I always was to your father: supportive."

The clasp at last undone, all Elizabeth could do was clench the chain of diamond spikes in her hands, so great was her anger. It was the one thing she couldn't argue with, and well she knew it. "He's had to give up his very self to walk behind me, when we'd been equals for the first four years of our marriage. He feels like he's been emasculated, and no doubt he blames me when all I've done is do what I've been told by Parliament, my advisors, and my family, and it's not made anyone but them happy." Her voice was steadily rising with every word, and for once, Elizabeth didn't give a monkey's what anyone thought. "My marriage is on the brink of collapse, I hardly ever see my children anymore, and I supposedly have the most power in the United Kingdom, save for the Prime Minister, yet I constantly find myself managed and manipulated by those whom _I_ am supposed to advise!"

Her temper boiling over at last, Elizabeth slammed the necklace down hard on the vanity, surprised that a dozen diamonds didn't fly out of it. A shuddering breath racked her body and hot tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I'm not a queen; I'm a bloody puppet. Worse, I'm not even a woman, just a doll to dress up and look pretty for the public." She hastily swiped at her tears. "I haven't taken Philip's name and freedom from him. The crown has. And it's taken him from me."

Try as she might, Elizabeth couldn't help the shaking of her shoulders as she sobbed. She hated for anyone to see her crying, especially her mother. And as she heard her mother's footsteps approaching, she steeled herself for a long lecture about duty, self-control, and keeping up appearances. What she certainly wasn't expecting was her mother to gently lay her hands upon her shoulders, turn her around, and wrap her up in a tight hug.

"Oh, Lilibet," the Queen Mother murmured, rocking her daughter in her arms. "I am so sorry, sweetling. I had no idea you felt this way."

"Really, Mummy? Or did you just not want to see it?"

"I suppose I deserve that. I did have my suspicions, but after what I went through with your father following the abdication..." The Queen Mother looked into her daughter's eyes, her own now welling with tears. "You're more like your papa than you know. You have his beautiful heart and his desire to just be..."

"Ordinary?" Elizabeth finished.

"As ordinary as royalty can get," the Queen Mother chuckled. "You also have his stubbornness. Do you know how hard he fought me over his speech therapy with Lionel Logue?"

"About as hard as you fought for him to go," Elizabeth said, laughing in spite of her tears. "I don't think I get my stubbornness just from Papa."

"No, my darling, you get it from me, too. I was always hardheaded enough to fight for your father, because I loved him so much it hurt." The Queen Mother cradled Elizabeth's face in her hands. "Which is exactly why you need to put that hard head of yours to good use and _go find your husband._"

For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if the world had gone mad. "Wait a minute. You're telling me to go find my husband and do what? Have it out with him, instead of waiting for this trip to Australia to straighten him out?"

"Yes. I believed I was acting in your best interest – and Philip's – when I suggested the Olympic trip. Now, after hearing your side of the story, I can see that I've only made things worse. I keep forgetting that you're a grown woman... and the Queen," the Queen Mother added quietly. "You're the only one who can handle Philip, make him realize that he needs you as badly as you need him." She gave her daughter's shoulders a squeeze. "Now, get dressed, pull yourself together, and go after that boy and show him how to be a man."

For the first time in a long time, Elizabeth felt peace surround her, and she knew in her heart that this was the right thing to do. "Thank you, Mummy," she gushed, throwing her arms around her mother. "I love you."

"I love you too, Lilibet. Now go. I'll be praying for you, dearest!" the Queen Mother called as she left, while Elizabeth shed her formal gown and donned her everyday clothes. As she fixed her makeup and gathered her purse, she opened the bag and took out a small, silver makeup case. The compact had been a wedding gift from Philip – he had designed it himself, as he had her engagement ring and a very special bracelet. He never knew that she always carried the case with her, but he would find out tonight. She slipped the case back into her handbag and put on her jewelry: a simple gold chain and earrings, and the bracelet Philip had given her on their fifth anniversary. _If my coming after him doesn't remind him who I am, then maybe his tokens will. _

With that in mind, Elizabeth strode out, commandeered a car, and took off to find Philip. No security detail, no tiara, nothing. Elizabeth Regina was cast aside, and Elizabeth Windsor was out to find her man.


	2. Fear

Previously, we got a glimpse into Elizabeth's thoughts about the strain of her marriage. Now, we delve into Philip's head and see how he feels about his part in everything.

Note: One major issue I have with _The Crown _is how it constantly portrays Philip as a womanizer (or at least hints at it). I don't believe he was the playboy he's made out to be, and this chapter is my defense of our favorite, much-maligned prince.

* * *

_How art thou a pillock? Let me count the ways._

Philip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh, had been mentally counting the ways ever since he roared away from Buckingham Palace. Failed to support his wife when she needed him the most? Check. Acted like a spoiled child to try and garner even a smidgen of Elizabeth's attention? Check. Guilted her constantly about putting her duties first? Check. Snapped at his mother-in-law over the Australian "holiday?"

All right, maybe that last one didn't count. It had felt bloody wonderful to call the Queen Mother out on her meddling, even if she had gotten the last word. Three out of four, however, added a new title to the list his late father-in-law had bestowed upon him. _Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Merioneth, Baron Greenwich, Royal Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, and Pillock Extraordinaire. Well done, old boy, well bloody done._

When had he become such a prat? He'd always been a snarky someone, making jokes to ease tension in awkward situations, but recently, he'd turned that sharp tongue into a sword. He'd certainly run Elizabeth through more than once, by his words and his actions. The latter, however, was what he regretted the most. Ever since Elizabeth became queen, he had all but pushed her away. Parliament, Elizabeth's advisors (dear God, was he glad that old fossil Tommy Lascelles was gone), and the Queen Mother believed that he was jealous of his wife's new rank, which was absurd. Jealousy was not his feeling about this mess. It was fear.

That fear had begun to creep in the instant Martin Charteris told him King George VI – Elizabeth's beloved father – had died. Not only was he afraid of telling Elizabeth, afraid _for _her, he was afraid of what this meant. His wife was no longer the crown princess; she was the queen. _No, _his heart had screamed. _No, not yet! Don't let the crown take her away from me. Let her be Princess Elizabeth, my Lilibet, for just a little while longer. Let me hold her before she's wrenched out of my arms._

So he did. As he broke the sad news, Philip's heart lurched and he reached out to cup her face in his hands – the face that was crumpling with anguish. "I'm sorry, cabbage. I'm so sorry," he murmured, gazing into cornflower-blue eyes swimming with tears. Elizabeth, trying desperately to conceal her sobs, could only bow her head as her tears continued to pour. Philip wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, take her into the privacy of their chalet bedroom, and bolt the door, lock out the press and the world that was crashing down around their ears. He wanted to comfort her, kiss her tears away, and shield her from what he knew was sure to come.

But, he couldn't. All he could do was kiss her forehead, rest his own against her brow, and pull her into a tight embrace. Part of him wished that, in holding her, he could hold her forever, prevent her from becoming something she was not. The fear mounted as he thought about what the crown had done to her family: her uncle abdicating, her father forced onto the throne, the stress of his job slowly killing him... he couldn't let that happen to Elizabeth. What would it do to their children, to their marriage?

The fear worsened, tying his guts into knots, during Elizabeth's coronation. He hated the idea of having to kneel before her, and not for the reasons everyone thought. Kneeling before his wife was one thing – for heaven's sake, he'd knelt when he proposed to her – it was kneeling before the crown that scared the living daylights out of him. Kneeling before the crown meant surrendering his Lilibet to the establishment, making a sacrificial lamb out of her, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. He hadn't refused to kneel because he was afraid of becoming inferior to a woman. He'd refused because he didn't want to humble himself before an institution that would strip Elizabeth of her humanity.

The instant that crown was placed on her head, Philip had felt the hand of that fear monster squeeze his heart. Sitting upon Saint Edward's chair, in her sparkling gown and cloth-of-gold mantle, scepter and rod in her hands and the state crown on her head, she hardly seemed a mere person anymore. She was larger than life, an intimidating being – and Philip counted himself among those intimidated. Divine light seemed to shine down upon her until she was glowing inside and out, God's chosen monarch. But Philip knew that there was a cold, dark night that would soon intrude upon that light. Her duties, extensive and exhausting, would take her further and further away from her own self, from Charles and Anne... and from him.

Lord, how he missed her. Not Queen Elizabeth II, but Lilibet. She was his everything, the source of his pain and yet the only one who could cure it, so deep into his soul that she was the color of the very blood that ran through his veins. Until he met her, he'd never known how powerful love could be, that finally having somewhere and someone to call home could mean so much.

_Perhaps you should tell her that, fool, instead of sitting here drowning yourself in lager._

Philip threw back the rest of his pint, glancing round at the other chaps in the pub. Following his meeting with the President of the Olympics Committee (and his subsequent green light for the Australia trip), he had ventured into a tiny pub for a drink. He knew that he was taking a risk by going in and that there would be trouble if he was recognized, but so far, so good. The lads gathered around the television, watching Chelsea play Manchester United, were either clueless or too drunk to know who he was. _They wouldn't be the first to ignore me,_ he thought, his mind wandering to Elizabeth. _What is she doing now? Probably toasting my absence with a glass of champagne. Probably off to breed more horses with Porchester._

_Porchester. _Philip clenched his glass so tightly, he was stunned it didn't shatter. The heir to the Earl of Carnarvon, who was born with a title, a castle, and lands waiting for him. The horse breeder, Elizabeth's childhood friend. The man her parents would have wanted her to marry: titled, connected, grounded, and _English. _But no, she married Philip, a homeless, near-skint prince of Greek and Danish nationality, who had three Nazis for brothers-in-law and, of course, the uncle who "gave away India." Add those reasons to his stubbornness, waspish tongue, and quick temper, and he was hardly the Windsor family's ideal pick to marry the crown princess.

No one had wanted Elizabeth to marry him, but she had fought for him until her father, finally softening to the idea, gave his consent. Amazingly enough, King George had even grown to love Philip, reminding him of the sacrifices he had made to marry Elizabeth – and would make in loving her.

_She is the job. She is the essence of your duty. Loving her, protecting her. Of course you'll miss your career, but doing this for me, doing this for her... I know no greater act of patriotism, or love._

Immediately, his memory flashed back to the day the king died. Elizabeth had told him she wanted to move back to Malta, so Philip could resume his naval career. She had been willing to give up her royal duties, her life in the country of her birth, even time spent with her father, so Philip could have his happiness. Then tragedy struck, and their lives changed forever. _Had they not, she would have sacrificed for me. And I've failed to do the same for her._

Philip groaned, resting his head in his hands. _God, forgive me. You Yourself said there was no greater love than to lay down your life for someone, and I've behaved like a child about laying mine down for Lilibet. I've been a bloody coward. I've left her in the lurch, to wallow in loneliness, and I've even accused her of being unfaithful._

_I have nothing to hide from you, _Elizabeth's voice now echoed in his head. _Nothing. Porchey is a friend. And yes, there are those who would have preferred me to marry him. Indeed, marriage with him might have been easier. Might even have worked better than ours. But to everyone's regret and frustration, the only person I have ever loved is you. And can you honestly look me in the eye and say the same? Can you?_

Even now, those words felt like a knife to the gut. Yes, Philip had gone out drinking and returned home late, and yes, there had been some risqué pictures shown at the club, but that was all... and that was also the problem. His behavior – getting absolutely plastered and roaring around London, and then coming home and making racket in the small hours of the morning – had only led her to believe he was having an affair. His distance, his coldness since she became queen, had not helped either. _Forgive me, Lord, _he prayed again, guilt searing him. _I've never betrayed Lilibet and I never will. She's the only one I want to hold, kiss, touch, the only woman I love. I know I've really bodged things up, but if You can spare a miracle for me, I'll be grateful for the rest of my life. Please, help me prove to Lilibet that I haven't broken my vows, show her I'm sorry, show her what she means to me... please, God..._

The pub door opened and footsteps sounded, coming ever closer to Philip's table, but he never looked up. The footsteps stopped, and a voice said, "So here you are."

Philip jerked. He knew that voice – aristocratic, lovely, and at the moment, tense. Still, it was the only voice that could set his heart ablaze. He looked up... and saw the answer to his prayers. "Lilibet."


	3. Catharsis

What a wait! I'm sorry for the delay, but I finally got off my butt and reuploaded Chapter 3. In this chapter, Elizabeth finds Philip at the pub and they have the talk that has been long overdue. This is my way of addressing all of those rumors about Prince Philip supposedly being a womanizer (I don't believe them, for the record).

The descriptions of Elizabeth's jewelry can be found at the amazing blog, The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor - I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to know more about the Crown Jewels!

* * *

She was here. He didn't know how, but she was here. She had come after him. And boy, was he glad to see her. "How'd you know I was here?"

Elizabeth gazed down at him with that scrutinizing look he'd gotten to know quite well. "I paid the Olympics Committee president a visit. He told me he'd recommended this pub to you, so I drew my own conclusions." Her bright blue eyes, piercing in the lights of the pub, were frosty. "Are you alone?"

Philip locked eyes with her, so he would know he was telling the truth. "Yes." A small grin curved his lips. "Unless you count the laggered sods gathered 'round the television."

No real reaction, yet Philip thought he saw a corner of her mouth twitch. She then looked around at her surroundings. "I've never been in a pub before," she mused, almost too softly for him to hear. "It's quite nice." She nodded at the nearby dartboard. "I could use one of those."

"To throw darts at my picture?"

"No. Just to let off steam sometimes. Maybe to prove that yes, I do things that ordinary people do." She sighed. "What would that be like? To not be above my people, but one of them, just for one day?"

"Why not find out?" Philip gestured at the chair across from him. "Join me, love?" he asked, in a surprisingly good Cockney accent.

At last, she smiled. "All right." She took her seat, and Philip hailed the bartender.

"Another one, sir?" the stout man asked as he neared.

"If you please. My wife has just joined me, and she'll have…" Philip gestured at Elizabeth, then glanced at the bartender to see what his reaction would be – if he recognized her. Perhaps he wouldn't – he certainly hadn't recognized Philip.

"A gin and Dubonnet, please," Elizabeth said, resting her hands on the table. As she did, the light caught the golden bracelet she wore on her right wrist. The bartender's eyes dipped to it – and widened in sudden recognition.

So did Philip's. That was the bracelet he'd designed and commissioned for her, for their fifth anniversary. _She wore it. I can't believe she wore it, after all the nasty things we've said to each other… _He also knew that Elizabeth had worn the bracelet to royal events, and that details of its craftsmanship had not escaped the press. It was a one-of-a-kind bracelet, and only one person in all of England owned it.

"Blimey," the bartender whispered in awe, his eyes now locking onto Elizabeth's face – and those blue eyes that the Windsors were famous for. "Your Ma –"

"Mrs. Mountbatten, if you please," Elizabeth deflected smoothly, cutting him off before he addressed her as _Your Majesty. _"My husband and I are incognito tonight."

Still poleaxed, the bartender's eyes shifted to Philip, and he clapped a hand to his brow. "Crikey, I'm a moron. That means you're…"

"Mr. Mountbatten, yes," Philip said with a sly grin. _This is too funny. He's recognized us, but he's not blasting it to the pub. I like him._

Meanwhile, the bartender collected himself and straightened up. "You're both incognito? Well, you can count on my utmost discretion, and I pray you'll forgive me for not recognizing you."

"Not at all, Mr…"

"Jennings. Herbert Jennings, ma'am."

"Not at all, Mr. Jennings," Elizabeth said graciously, beaming a smile at him. "And thank you for keeping this quiet."

"Of course, ma'am. Now then, that was another pint, a gin and Dubonnet…"

"And two plates of fish and chips," Philip added upon hearing Elizabeth's stomach growl. When she gave him a quizzical look, he explained, "I carry money with me. Not a lot, but enough to buy a drink and a hot meal or two. Never know when you'll need to be prepared." He held up a hand when Mr. Jennings opened his mouth, probably to object to royalty paying. "I insist. It would look awfully strange if we didn't pay, and besides that, I want to treat my wife to dinner. This is our first proper date in quite some time."

A smile spread across Mr. Jennings's face. "You're a good husband, sir. I'll have those orders in for you, and I'll be right back with your drinks." He nodded to Philip and then to Elizabeth, subtle bows so the crowd wouldn't notice. "Ma'am," he addressed her, before striding back to the bar. In no time he had returned with their drinks, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

Philip sighed deeply. "Some good husband I've been lately. I've been a selfish twit."

"I won't argue that." Elizabeth's eyes bored into him. "Not to change the subject, but why do you carry money, and how? We don't keep much about the palace, you know."

The question was not accusatory, merely curious. "When you haven't grown up with much, and one has to move from place to place like I did years ago…" Philip went quiet, remembering the days when he was, for lack of a better term, homeless. "It makes one want to keep some money on hand, in case of emergency."

The poignant moment turned humorous with Elizabeth's next comment. "Do you consider this an emergency?"

Philip's lips quirked upward. "That depends. How badly do you need to be rescued?"

"I could ask the same of you, you know." Elizabeth sipped at her drink. "What's your answer?"

Just like that, they were back to poignant. "Badly."

Elizabeth gave him a sad, knowing smile. "Same here."

Philip gazed at her bracelet as she lay her hand back on the table. "I can't believe you wore that. After all the ghastly things we said to each other, after how I've behaved…"

Elizabeth held up the hand bearing her wedding band and engagement ring. "I'm still wearing these, aren't I?"

_Much to my joy, _Philip thought with relief, watching the diamonds glitter. He had been so proud – and overjoyed – to slide that ring on the finger of his future bride. After a long courtship and a lot of sparring with her family – no one had wanted him to marry Elizabeth or thought him worthy of the future queen, save for Queen Mary and King George, once he have his blessing – Elizabeth won out and Philip was free to propose to her. To do so, however, he needed a ring. He designed the engagement ring himself: one single diamond and a tiny five-diamond chevron on each side, set in a platinum band. The diamonds had been taken from a tiara that once belonged to his mother, Princess Alice of Battenberg. He'd used the remaining diamonds to craft a stunning, Art Deco-like bracelet as a wedding gift to Elizabeth, but she'd chosen not to wear that one tonight. _Sensible. Don't want to attract too much attention._

The bracelet she wore now, the anniversary bracelet, was far more subtle. His naval badge in gold and diamonds and the crosses of the British Empire set in rubies and sapphires, and two bejeweled flowers (reflecting her love of all things floral) held together by a chain of interlocking links – their initials woven together. The symbolism of the bracelet came rushing back to him, and he felt another twinge of guilt. She hadn't randomly selected it, that was for sure. _Well played, Lilibet._

Elizabeth followed his eyes back to her wrist. "Do you remember what you said to me when you gave me this?"

"How could I forget? I told you I'd had it made with your symbols and mine, all intertwined, surrounding each other… just like us."

"Nothing could tear us apart, we were so intricately tied," Elizabeth recalled. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing except my bloody pride," Philip grumbled. "No wonder they say it's the worst of the Seven Deadly Sins."

Elizabeth sighed. "Philip, I'm as big a sinner as you. I thought I was right, that I was doing the right thing by letting my advisors sway me so, but it was a mistake. I allowed myself to be manipulated because I was too afraid to do anything myself, afraid that one wrong move, and my kingdom would fall." She stared down into the ruby liquid in her glass. "I was afraid."

Philip could only stare at his wife. He'd known she was scared to death when her father died, but after? "Hard to believe you could be afraid of anything."

Elizabeth raised her head, her expression fiercer than he'd ever seen it. "Don't say that to me," she said quietly, her words catching. "Don't say that I'm not afraid of anything, because my duty is to be unafraid; I'm told to be so all the time. Elizabeth Regina may be unafraid, but Elizabeth Windsor Mountbatten is afraid every day of her life, and has been since the day her father died. I'm constantly scared that the crown will take me so far away from Charles and Anne that they no longer recognize me or want anything to do with me. I'm afraid of losing myself…" She took a gulp of her drink and swallowed hard. "I'm afraid of losing the man I love."

She stared Philip down the entire time she said this, her eyes turning crystalline with tears, and he felt like weeping himself. Dear God, how could he have been so blind? He'd been so wrapped up in his own pride and fears that he had failed to see just how lonely and frightened she was. In public, she was fearless because she had to be, just as her father had been. Now that it was just the two of them, with no protocols or advisors breathing down their necks, she was opening up to him, exposing raw vulnerability like Philip hadn't seen before. She was every bit as scared as he was, every bit as hurt and trapped by the crown. She'd cried out to him for help, in the only ways she knew how, and he'd thrown it back in her face. He took a slug of his ale, ran a hand through his hair, and reached out to clasp his wife's hand in his own.

"I am so sorry, Lilibet," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Everything?"

The implication of that word stung, and Philip shot out his free hand to grab hers, squeezing tightly. "Elizabeth, look at me. Look me in the eye!" he ordered, her words ringing in his head. She met his gaze, and Philip's never wavered. "I have gone out and gotten so drunk, I could barely walk, and yes, I have even seen a few stag films during my outings at the club, but hear me now: I have _never _been unfaithful to you. I know my actions have implied otherwise, and I'm sorry for that. What I just told you about the stag films is as far as anything has ever gone, but I regret even doing that. Every time I watched one, all I could think about was _you, _how much I wanted and needed you…" Philip tried and failed to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. "Lilibet, I can't be with any woman but you. You amaze me and you scare me all at once, and I love your shadows just as much as your light. You're so deep within me, you're the color of my blood. You're my _home, _Lilibet, and I love you." He raised her hands to his lips. "I love you. But I failed you. You needed me, and I threw you to the wolves. I didn't abandon you because I was jealous, or because I felt like less of a man. I was afraid I would lose you."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by a loud cheer from the crowd watching the football match. When the noise died down, she said, "So… your refusal to kneel before me…"

"Was not the insecurity of a jealous husband. It was the fear of a man who'd lost too much already. I'd lost my father to the mistress he loved more than his own wife and children, my mother to a mental illness that all but claimed her soul, my sister Cecile and her child to an airplane crash, and my early home to Greek revolutionaries who wanted my family dead. I wasn't about to lose my wife to the establishment that not only forced her father to sacrifice everything, but hastened his death. And I'd be hanged before I paid homage to a crown that made you a goddess to be worshiped, not a woman to be loved and cherished." Philip smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. "After all, what does a goddess need a husband for? Look at Aphrodite and Hephaestus. She was beloved by many, so many that he kept his distance."

"She had lovers, not a nation of people."

"All of ancient Greece worshiped her."

"All right, I see your point. But, I always got the feeling that, despite her status as goddess of love and her hordes of admirers, Aphrodite was lonely. I also sensed that she truly did love her husband. How could any woman not love a man like Hephaestus? He had a beautiful soul, a bit of a daring streak, as he worked with fire… and he made jewelry and gifts for his wife." With the first smile he'd seen all night, Elizabeth held up both of her hands, to show her ring and her bracelet.

Philip chuckled. "Flattered as I am, I'd hope I'm at least a little more attractive than poor old Heph," he teased.

Elizabeth's eyes glittered. "You're slightly more handsome." Philip nudged her foot with his and was rewarded with, praise God, a giggle. "What about me? As much as I loathe being compared to a goddess, do you still find me as fetching as Aphrodite?"

Philip's eyes swept over her. Lord, she was beautiful. Her mahogany hair, free of its perfect coif, was tumbling about her shoulders in loose curls. Eyes the color of a summer sky gazed at him, and her lips gleamed ruby against peach-and-cream skin – skin that was every bit as soft, warm, and smooth as it looked, he knew from experience. "Cabbage," he said, his voice huskier than he'd intended, "Aphrodite doesn't even compare to you."

Whether it was the words of love or the desire in his voice, something made Elizabeth blush like a rose. "_Philip…_"

"What?" Philip snuck a look at the football fans, who were now cheering again, several for Manchester. "Not in front of the children? I don't think they give a monkey's about us. They're too busy watching Manchester wallop Chelsea."

"You are incorrigible."

"So I've been told."

Elizabeth laughed, then went quiet for a moment. "Philip… I owe you an apology, too. I'm sorry for not fighting harder for you, for not encouraging you to be who you are instead of what everyone else wants you to be. I fell into the trap of thinking you saw me as a ball and chain, holding you down and making you less of a man. I'm sorry, my darling."

"Lilibet, the only ball and chain in this marriage is that bloody crown."

"No arguments here."

"And you haven't made me less of a man, despite what I've said. I've done that myself." Philip's finger caressed her wedding ring. "I swear, Lilibet, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, starting tonight. I'll be your liege man of life and limb, I promise."

Elizabeth smiled. "And I promise to obey, when I'm not adhering to duty. I'll wear the crown, but at home, you'll wear the trousers."

Philip's heart leapt. Now _that _was a bloody marvelous compromise, and a fantastic way to resolve their troubles. "It's a deal!" Unable to contain himself, he jumped up from his seat, circled around to Elizabeth, and planted a kiss right on her lips… just when the football fans let out another wild cheer. He pulled back with a hearty guffaw. "I guess they're happy for us!"

"Oh, Philip!" Elizabeth gave his chest an easy swat. "You're lucky they're still engrossed in that match."

"Oh, what's life without a little risk? And speaking of which…" A brilliant idea took shape in Philip's head. I want to show you something after we're done here.

"What?"

"It's a surprise." Philip winked at her, and then noticed Mr. Jennings heading their way with two steaming platters. "Yes, dinner!" They thanked Mr. Jennings, who nodded and returned to his duties, and tucked into their supper with gusto. Philip grinned when he saw Elizabeth slather vinegar on her chips, then take a healthy bite of the fried haddock. "Good?"

"Good? It's sinful!" Elizabeth popped a chip into her mouth and beamed. "I can't remember the last time I tasted something so good."

"How about the last time we had a proper kiss?" Philip laughed at the crimson flush that colored his wife's cheeks and dove back into his dinner, saying prayers of gratitude in his mind. _God, I owe You. Thank You for answering my prayer! Keep us together, help us to listen to each other, and keep us safe as I show Lilibet a world she's never known._


End file.
